Black Bulgarian Rose
by Republic of Yolossia
Summary: Three children wander where they shouldn't have, talk to a person they shouldn't talk to, and hear a story that was best left untold. It's the story of a monster's twisted quest for love, at whatever cost, and it's tragic consequences. robul
1. The man

_Kuzey- TRNC_

_Peter- Sealand_

_Charlotte- Wy_

_Alin- Romania_

…

_Hello yes I am starting a new fic, and yes it's multi-chaptered. I like to live dangerously, okay? _

_It's user GarGoyl's idea, and written for her, so blame her, yes? We worked on the plot together, so I /guess/ we're both to blame, but still…_

_Basically, this is a robul fic (wow shocker, when was the last time I wrote anything else?) but one-sided, and utterly miserable and gory, so be warned. I tried to slip some funnies in every now and again, but they could be subject to individual readers' senses of humour._

_This will contain my first attempt at a proper m-rated fic, so there's gonna be a sex-scene or two, along with blood, gore and character death. Not in the same scene, of course, though that sounds like one hell of a party._

_Anyhow, on with the show, as they say!_

…

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kuzey looked around nervously, sharp eyes scanning the gloomy, murky, forest they were in for anything sinister that could attack the unsuspecting group of children. Peter scoffed.

"Of course it is! What sort of idiot do you take me for?" Kuzey opened his mouth to retort but their other friend, Charlotte, elbowed him. He gave a small grumble, watching the little Englishman attempt to force open one of the dusty, grimy windows of the abandoned house that stood before them. It was small, and took up one storey, barely more than a decaying shack. The windows were opaque, and the wooden walls covered in dirt and cobwebs. The sun had long gone down, and the trio were huddled together in the darkness. They'd not meant to wander so far from home; they had been simply curious about what was in the woods near their town, and had gone exploring. Now, they were frightened and cold and just wanted to run home to their parents, but they didn't know where home was anymore. They had wandered for hours, cold feet trudging over undergrowth and mud as they stared at the endless expanse of trees around them, desperately searching for some sign of civilisation. It had been Peter's idea to take shelter in the little hut, and since he was the bravest out of the three (or stupidest, as Kuzey and Charlotte mentioned repeatedly), it was his job to go in first.

Peter finally managed to lift the rusty, stiff, window, creating a gap large enough for the three children to squeeze themselves through.

Peter was the first in, peering around the tiny room, empty of furniture, eyes straining in the darkness before deciding the coast was clear, and beckoned for the other two to follow him. Kuzey helped the youngest member of the group through before climbing in himself, glancing behind him once more to make certain that they weren't being followed.

When the three of them were inside, Peter pulled out a tiny torch, using it to check the corners of the room for anything malevolent or scary. Satisfied that they were alone, he turned to the other two.

"Okay, we'll stay here for the night," he began, "then look for home in the morning. Maybe then, our heads will be clearer."

"Or maybe our parents will call the police and they'll find us here before that," suggested Charlotte, "at least then we'll not have to worry about trying to find a way out of here."

"True!"

"Are you positive it's deserted?" Kuzey glanced uneasily at the door, leading to a second room in the hut.

"Sure," Peter wandered over and kicked the door open, "see? Nothing to worry about!"

"_Are you sure about that_?"

The children screamed, wheeling around to find a hunched figure in the doorway, covered in layers of old, thin clothes, the top half of his face hidden by a hood. He was grinning, sharp teeth glistening in the rays of moonlight spilling in through the window.

"Who are you?" Peter cried, shielding the other two and putting his fists up ready for a fight.

The figure's grin widened; "I'm your worst nightmare."

"Oh please," Kuzey scoffed, "you're not Peter!"

"Hey!"

The stranger chuckled, lowering his hood. "Don't be afraid, children. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you're doing in my home." He had light brown hair, scruffy, but vibrant and silky, his pale face clear of blemishes, shining red eyes bordered by thick lashes and his frame petite, delicate and graceful. He seemed completely flawless in appearance, apart from the dust and dirt covering him, like it had been years since he'd last bathed.

"We're lost," Charlotte admitted, peering from behind Peter.

"Oh? Oh dear, you poor things!" the strangers words sounded false and cold, and Kuzey and Charlotte exchanged nervous glances, but Peter appeared unfazed. He stepped closer, smiling hopefully.

"Do you think we can stay here with you, mister?" he inquired, "just for a bit! We're really tired from walking."

"Of course!" the stranger beckoned for them to follow him into the next room, disappearing through the doorway. As Peter went to follow the man, Charlotte held him back.

"I don't like this," she hissed, "he looks dangerous."

"We should cut from the scene while we still can," added Kuzey, eyes flicking towards the window.

"Oh come off it!" Peter scoffed, shrugging Charlotte's hand away, "you two are a bunch of big babies! What choice do we have anyway?"

Kuzey looked like he was about to argue back, but the stranger interrupted them.

"Come on!" he called from the other room, "I have a fire going on in here! Come and get warm. There's nothing to fear!"

Peter threw a smug glance in Kuzey's direction before wandering into the other room, his friends slowly, cautiously following.

They found themselves in a tiny bedroom, similar in appearance to the previous one, but with more furniture. Dirt and grime made the stone floor almost invisible, and in the shadows, the children heard rats scurrying about, and flies buzzing lazily. There was a grubby mattress in the corner, covered in dull, rough blankets piled haphazardly on top of each other, and a low table next to it, containing a single, black rose. A small stove stood on the other side of the room, in use as the stranger sat on the floor in front of it, warming his gloved hands with the small, crackling fire it contained. The one window in the room was covered by a sheet of dirty canvas.

"Come, sit," he ordered, motioning for the children to join him on the floor, "my name is Alin Radacanu, by the way."

"I'm Peter Kirkland," Peter replied, turning off his torch and sitting on the floor next to him, "and these are my friends: Kuzey Adnan and Charlotte Cook."

"Sorry but I don't care what your names are," Alin waved a hand dismissively, "you're just 'child one', 'child two' and 'child three' to me."

"Charming," Charlotte stared disdainfully at the mucky floor before joining Peter, huddling close to her friend and the fire. Like Peter, she'd worn shorts instead of trousers, and was shivering, cold to the bone. She pulled her pink coat tighter around her, and glanced up expectantly at Kuzey. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, but they were damp and he still felt chilly. Kuzey sighed and joined his friends on the floor, brushing dried mud and dead leaves away with his shoe before plopping down next to Charlotte.

"So what are you doing here?" Peter asked.

"I live here, child one," Alin replied simply.

"Oh, how come?"

"Hiding," Alin gave a small, sad grin. He gulped, shakily poking at the fire in the stove with a twig, watching as the flames licked at the tiny stick and it caught ablaze. He tossed it in, sighing.

"From what?" Peter pressed, looking at him curiously.

"I… it's a long story."

"So you never leave here?" asked Kuzey, frowning slightly; "you never go into town?"

"Pretty much, yes, child two."

"How do you eat?"

"I don't," Alin frowned, glaring at the children. He forgot how many questions young people tended to ask. Children never seemed to stop asking questions, always curious, always wanting to know more. Didn't they realise how dangerous knowledge could be? Almost as dangerous as… no, don't think about it!

"Is that possible?" Charlotte's thick brows furrowed together.

"Yes, child three. Any more questions?"

"A few," Peter replied weakly. Alin sighed.

"Go on then."

"Why can't you eat? Do you like living here? Doesn't the smell bother you? Seriously, it stinks something awful here. What are you hiding from? Are you scared of something? Are you hiding because you're dirty and smelly?"

"No I am not!" Alin snapped, glaring at the boy, "I'm hiding because someone did something terrible to me, and they're still living in town, walking around amongst normal people, acting like nothing happened whilst I'm… I'm… forced to live like a dog."

"What did they do?" asked Kuzey.

"They ruined me." Alin glanced at the three children, who looked up curiously, waiting expectantly for him to continue. He turned away from the fire, facing them, sitting cross-legged with his hands resting on his knees.

"You really want to know?" he asked, voice flat and hoarse.

They nodded at the same time.

"Maybe we can help," Peter offered, "we're all pretty smart for our ages!"

Alin gave a short, bitter laugh. He sneered at the trio, trying to hold back more laughter as they shrank away from him.

"I'm beyond the help of you mere mortals," he told them, "this is paranormal business, kiddies, not for the likes of you."

"You never know," Peter sniffed, shrugging, "maybe we can offer a fresh, new look at your situation."

Alin studied him for a minute, taking in his smooth, innocent, childish features. His head was held high, jaw sticking out determinedly and his eyes fierce. Behind him, Kuzey and Charlotte were nodding in agreement.

"Fine, sure. Why the hell not?" he rolled his eyes before leaning closer, grinning wickedly, "if you think you can keep up, that is. This tale isn't for the faint-of-heart."

"Oh please," Charlotte scoffed, "I've probably watched scarier cartoons!"

Alin laughed again, shaking his head despairingly.

"All right, if you're certain. Now listen carefully you brats, because I'm only gonna tell this story once. And you're here to witness that, aren't you lucky? Now, this is a tale of greed and destruction! It is the tale of a man… and a monster."

Peter scoffed; "isn't that last sentence from the Hunchback of Notre Da-?"

"Shut up and listen to my story!"

Peter rolled his eyes, folding his arms and mimicking Alin in a high-pitched voice. The man glowered at him before continuing.

"So, years ago, before you brats were probably born even, there lived a boy…"

…

**Yeah first chapter, hope it's okay so far. Pretty much a prologue here, the story picks up next chapter.**


	2. The neighbour

_Tsvetan- Bulgaria_

…

_Warning for lots of profanity in this chapter, as well as unhealthy portrayals of relationships, and stalking, in case that upsets anyone here._

…

"Shit," Alin hissed, wading through ankle-deep water to get to his kitchen, "oh fucking shit! Oh bugger cunt fuck! Bastard shit fuck!" He spewed out more curses as he splashed through the flooded kitchen to where the taps were spilling even more water into his house, lunging forward to turn them off. The sink was filled to the brim, water pouring over the sides onto the worktop and floor. He turned around, looking in horror at the soaked room. Early that morning, he'd awoken to find his water supply cut off, probably from a burst pipe, and fiddled half-heartedly with the taps before leaving for university, not realising he'd left them on, and at some point during the day, the water had come back on. Now the ground floor was flooded; his carpet was ruined; the walls were soaking; and the sockets all bust. He sighed, picking up a mop and getting to work. How would he explain this to the landlord? He'd be made to pay through the nose, possibly getting evicted altogether. Maybe if he opened all the windows and doors, the water would spill out and dry off on its own. No one would need to know.

He threw the front door open, pushing water out with his mop, and froze. _His neighbour. _

Alin lived on the end of his street, in a semi-detached little house that bordered a similar building. He didn't know who lived there, only that they were alone, and very secretive. There was a good chance some of the water had leaked into his house too, causing what he hoped was minimal damage. Alin would have to visit him and apologise.

This whole mess was the last thing he needed right now, not after the long, terrible month he'd had. He was behind on his schoolwork, losing sleep and had neglected his friends and family, all because of the strange flowers. They just turned up suddenly, in his house, his rucksack, sometimes even in his pocket as he walked along the street. He'd just reach up to pull something out of his shirt pocket, and find a tiny black rose sitting snugly amongst tissues and scraps of paper. He'd reach into his bag during class, and prick his fingers on a rose lying at the bottom. He'd come home, tired from a day of lessons only to find a vase he'd never seen before sitting on his dining table filled with the black flowers. It scared him beyond belief, and at times he'd been tempted to move out, leave the town and go back to his parents. But his pride wouldn't let him. Besides, he was enjoying his literature degree at the local university, and didn't want to throw his education away over something so trivial.

But was it? Someone was breaking into his house to do this, and, although they weren't taking anything, he still wanted them to stop. They were invading his privacy and breaking the law too. Maybe he should go to the police about it.

As he considered his options, like he'd done for weeks now, he slowly mopped up the water, throwing open the window, letting in the fresh breeze and twittering of birds. He looked out of the tiny window at his garden, overgrown and plain, the occasional flower poking through. A large wall prevented him from looking over into his neighbour's garden, even from his second storey bedroom window. Secretive weirdo.

They'd only moved in a few months ago, after the previous family had suddenly emigrated one night, not even introducing themselves except to leave a note and a jar of homemade jam. Alin had gone over to thank the man, who'd signed his note as 'Mr Borisov', but he wasn't in. Something had felt odd about the note and gift, and he'd thrown away the jam without trying any of it, an action he immediately regretted. Rose jam was his favourite kind. The neighbour wasn't home any of the times Alin had visited, or maybe he was, and was simply ignoring him. It made Alin almost not want to bother telling him about the leak, but Alin wasn't raised to be rude, and Mr Borisov would find out soon enough anyway.

Alin groaned as he wandered into the sitting room, wet socks squelching as his cold, wet feet splashed through the shallow flood. This was going to take ages to clean and dry.

"Bastard taps," he hissed, looking in despair as the water swirled around the room, ruining the walls, floor and furniture. He threw the mop on the floor, snarling as he stomped back into the hall. There was no use trying to do this now, he'd probably burn the house down in a rage. Maybe his neighbour would help calm him down.

As he walked out into his front garden and stared at the dull, slightly sinister house, he realised a conversation with the faceless man could possibly rob him of the last of his patience. Alin predicted that he'd probably burn both their houses down.

He laughed at the thought. Like he'd dare! Alin wasn't tough or intimidating, like some other men. He couldn't fight, or wreak havoc. He had a slight build, no muscle, no toned limbs, and was a shy, timid man. Well, if one was to put him in a room with his best friend Arthur, and they could talk for hours about magic and legends and the occult, but with everyone else? He wouldn't know what to say. No, he was far too easily afraid, which was why he preferred living alone.

Still, he had to do this. Walking up his neighbour's path, Alin knocked on the door and waited. He hummed to himself, desperately trying to flatten his messy hair whilst looking around at the neat little front garden, with rows of small, jewel-like flowers in the flowerbeds, and rich green grass cut smartly.

The door finally opened, revealing a young man with black hair, neatly parted, and cold, calculating, green eyes. He was calm and cool, giving a friendly smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, and Alin couldn't help but stare; he was unnaturally handsome. There was something else about the man, a feeling he stirred inside Alin, one that told him to run as far away as he could from Mr Borisov and never look back. Alin wasn't a wise man, so he ignored that feeling and focused on another: familiarity.

He'd seen this man before.

…

_One fine Saturday morning, about six weeks ago_

…

_Alin scowled as he peered in the windows of the shops he passed, nothing catching his eye. Why did he have to make friends with someone so difficult to buy for? Arthur was a weird boy, that's how he and Alin ended up so close, and buying him a mug or scarf as a birthday present would not do at all. If only there was somewhere for their specific, eccentric tastes…_

_Alin caught sight of a tiny shop, down a side street and barely visible in the gloom. It was painted a dull red, large, panelled, windows full of stacked, curious little objects that seemed to move and glisten on their own. Above the door and window, the name of the shop was painted in a swirling gold font, one of those generic occult-y, witch-y names with 'magic' spelt deliberately wrong. Perfect._

_Alin bounded over to the door, pushing it open to hear the tinkling of a tiny bell, and stepped inside. He found himself in a darkened room, squeezed between shelves packed to the brim with old books, charms, boxes, cards, scrolls, bottles, jewellery, coins and t-shirts emblazoned with a variety of symbols. He let out a low whistle._

"_Fucking hell, this place has everything," he whispered._

"_Of course it does!" a figure jumped in front of him, waving their arms. Alin shrieked and leapt back, nearly tripping over his feet and knocking over a collection of shrunken heads in the process._

"_Don't do that!" he cried, "didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to scare people?"_

"_No," the other grinned, and Alin glared at him, taking in his messy, dark, hair and mischievous, predatory eyes. He wore a hooded cloak, covering an embroidered tunic, and Alin raised an eyebrow at it. Was he in some sort of cult? At least he and Arthur had never thought to make up costumes for themselves. He had a slight tan, rugged and somewhat handsome, and Alin stared at him in interest._

"_So what can I do for you?" the salesman clasped their hands together._

"_I need a gift for my friend," Alin told him, "he's into this kind of shit."_

_The salesman exhaled sharply, glowering at him for a second before leading him down the aisle._

"_Perhaps your friend would be interested in some lucky charms?" the salesman suggested, picking up a selection for Alin to admire, "or a cloak of his own? Would they like this book of spells? Some earrings? Maybe a vial of holy water to keep away vampires?" With each trinket, he held it under Alin's nose, as if to tempt him into buying it. _

"_Does that even work?" Alin eyes the little bottle sceptically._

"_No," the salesman admitted, "but he doesn't know that."_

"_I see," Alin peered at a box of love charms, and shook his head, eyes wandering over to a book of creatures in Celtic mythology. "Maybe this;" he picked up the large book, leafing through the pages. The print was tiny, broken by detailed drawings of dragons and kelpies and all sorts of strange monsters, how they hunt, different variations of each species, their main anatomical features, where to find them and what to do if you see one. _

"_Well, if your friend likes that then maybe he'd like some more books," the salesman looked at him oddly, eyes drilling into Alin's, like he was trying to hypnotise him or something, "on other aspects of Celtic culture, or monsters from different parts of the world?"_

"_No thanks. One is enough."_

"_Okay then," the salesman gave a sickeningly sweet smile, "would he like a shrunken head? Or some cards? A wand? A shirt?"_

"_No, just the book. Please."_

_The salesman narrowed his eyes, standing up to his full height; "would you like to buy something for yourself?"_

"_I'd love to, really, but I'm on a budget," Alin explained._

"_Fine, please follow me to the counter," the salesman wheeled around sharply, striding to the back of the shop whilst muttering about how some people were trying to make a living. Alin was tempted to dump the book down and walk out, but knew he'd never find anything else this perfect for Arthur. The salesman jumped over the counter with ease, turning around and smiling almost hungrily at Alin, like he was about to jump back over and rip his face off. His large, rough hands gripped the counter as Alin placed the book in front of him._

"_Can I have a bag, please?" he asked innocently._

"_Of course," the salesman replied through gritted teeth, pulling a large paper bag out from under the counter and stuffing the book inside. Alin quickly paid and turned to leave, but the salesman shot out a hand and gripped his shoulder._

"_What are you?" he asked, voice scarcely more than a whisper._

"_A human," Alin replied, raising an eyebrow, "just like you." The other only chuckled._

"_Can I go now?"_

"_One more question!" replied the salesman; "do you not find me utterly irresistible?"_

_Alin burst out laughing, "no, sorry. I'm sure you're attractive and all, but not to me. Try your luck somewhere else." And with that, he flounced out of the shop, grinning smugly._

…

"Wait, so the occult shop guy moved in next door to you?" asked Peter.

"Yes, it appeared so."

"What a strange coincidence!"

"Indeed, child one, indeed," Alin paused for a moment, lost in memories, before continuing.

…

"Didn't you own a crappy little shop selling fake magic stuff?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Possibly, yes," Mr Borisov's lips thinned and he leaned against the door frame, "I'm surprised you recognised me."

Alin shrugged, "well, you're creepy enough to remember, I guess."

"Fair enough, though I no longer own the shop, if you must know. Sold it. Going to the university in the centre of town now."

"Hey me too!" Alin grinned, "surprised I didn't see you there as well."

"Chances are that our time tables stop us from meeting properly," Mr Borisov waves a hand dismissively, "though I've caught glimpses of you."

"Really?"

"Yes. So, what's troubling my dear neighbour?"

"I… may have flooded my house by accident," Alin admitted, "and wanted to know if the water soaked into your own house. I'll pay for any damage. Well, I would if I had money, but I don't, so you're kinda on your own. Sorry."

"I see," Mr Borisov nodded, "well, I haven't noticed anything yet, but I'll keep an eye out for any damp."

"That's fine, and sorry for all the trouble."

"I'm sure you can make it up to me," there it was again. That look, like Mr Borisov wanted nothing more than to disembowel him and eat his still-warm organs. Alin gulped, taking the tiniest step backwards.

"I can?"

"Yes, what do you say to the two of us going out for drinks sometime? Maybe tomorrow?"

"Are you asking me out on a_ date_?" Alin scoffed, "Mr Borisov-"

"Call me Tsvetan."

"Fine,_ Tsvetan_; are you asking me out? Because if you are-"

"I might be. But you can also see it as two friends bonding over some drinks." Tsvetan pulled what he probably thought was a convincing smile, though it still looked cold to Alin, "look, I'll admit that I'd like to get to know you. You're a very curious man. Just humour me with this one date, okay? I can assure you that you won't be disappointed."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at five then," Tsvetan winked, taking Alin's last statement as approval to the date, "wear something nice."

"Hmph," Alin walked briskly away, trying to hide his blush. Of all the things he expected to possibly happen when he talked with Tsvetan, being asked out was not one of them, and he didn't know how to feel about it. Did he like Tsvetan? No, he hardly knew the man! But he wasn't that bad to look at, and chances are that they had a lot in common, so why not go for it? It could turn into something great. At the very least, it gave him an excuse to leave the house for once.

He couldn't help but feel uneasy around Tsvetan though; he was definitely up to something. Still, one date and he'd probably never be bothered by him again, as long as he made it clear that this was just a one-time event. There was still that part of Alin who wanted to run away and never see Tsvetan again, though he guessed the other would find some way of slipping back into his life. He walked through his flooded hall, groaning at the mess he still had to clean, and entered the kitchen.

There was a fresh vase of roses on the table.

He growled, seeing red and storming over to them, knocking them onto the floor with the back of his hand. The vase smashed into pieces, scattering the dark roses everywhere. The flowers stared up at him, mocking his discomfort cruelly.

Alin was suddenly filled with dread at the thought of tomorrow.

…

"Woah, so you really went out with him?" Charlotte wrinkled her nose, "but he sounds so creepy!"

Alin sighed, nodding sadly, "yeah, picked me up the next day."

"And how did that go?" asked Kuzey apprehensively.

"Well…"

…

**So I'm not too pleased with this chapter, mainly because the characters aren't all that developed yet. But that'll be remedied in future chapters. The first chapter got such a positive response though wow! Thank you everyone for your kind words! And thank you Miss Sunfish for the fanart, and for giving me permission to use it as the cover. In light of that, I'd like to ask everyone with a tumblr account to check out user peteradnan's profile? Okay? Good.**

**As I keep saying, things will pick up next chapter.**

**Now if you'll excuse me, it's very late and technically St Patrick's day. Thus, there are drunk Irish people wandering home from the pub outside my flat. I don't live in Ireland anymore; what are they doing here? Oh well.**


	3. The signs

_Yes, I know I've been updating this pretty lively recently. I'll try to work on something else for a bit. On the other hand, this isn't an extremely long story, maybe five more chapters? So what harm could finishing it be?_

_No smut in this chapter, so yous are all safe for now, but there is some fighting and physical violence, and Bulgaria being a little shit._

…

"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" Tsvetan suggested, glancing at Alin expectantly. For nearly ten minutes now, neither had said a word as they walked through narrow streets in the evening light. It had been a warm summer's day, and now there was a cool, welcoming breeze in the air, other couples and groups of friends ambling past the pair. The streets were a flurry of brightly coloured dresses and shirts, and from a nearby café, a guitar played. Alin felt cold though, and cut off from the crowd; all he could focus on was the man next to him, and the crushing, awkward silence between them.

"Um, well," he nervously stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, stealing glances at the other, "I'm a literature student. I like reading fairytales and classics, um, and I'm a bit of a nerd. My best friend and I are really into magic and Harry Potter. I think lynxes and bats are really interesting too. Err, that's about it, really."

Tsvetan nodded along, smiling politely. He seemed more natural here, and less threatening, like he was truly making an effort not to scare Alin. His casual green shirt and jeans gave him a relaxed aura, so different from the creepy vibes he normally gave off, and Alin, for once, didn't feel the urge to run from him. He just smiled, looking around at the brightly coloured houses and shops they walked past, seemingly unaware of Alin's slight unease.

"And yourself?" Alin asked, desperate to know _something_ about him.

"Oh, well I'm a gardener in my spare time," Tsvetan told him, "and I have my little garden, pretty proud of it, actually. And I quite like cooking, for other people, at least. I don't do much, to be honest, apart from lessons and hobbies."

"And what are you studying?"

Tsvetan thought for a moment, "history."

"Interesting!" They fell into silence again. "Where are we even going?" Alin asked, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. They were walking along the riverbank now, a row of lamps lighting the way as the sun dipped down behind the buildings on the opposite bank, throwing splashes of red, orange and purple across the sky. The river sounded calming and gentle, broken only by the squawks of seabirds sitting atop the water, or flying in the sky above the pair. A group of children ran past, kicking a football between them and shouting cheerily. All these things Alin noticed in an attempt to not look at the man next to him for too long.

"Just a little place I've walked past a few times," Tsvetan waved a hand airily, "nothing too fancy."

"Oh good." More silence. Soon enough, Tsvetan nodded in the direction of a tiny, cosy pub. It didn't stand out too much, with faded yellow paint and a hanging sign above the door. Boxes packed to the brim with flowers hung under every window, and the pavement outside was dotted with tables and chairs, some filled with people tucking into a hearty pub dinner, or simply downing various alcoholic drinks.

Alin nodded slowly as he stared at it; the place didn't seem too weird, or overly fancy, and he silently thanked Tsvetan for it. Maybe the man wasn't so bad after all. Tsvetan held out his hand, which Alin took, and led him inside.

The place was reasonably packed, not so crowded they could barely move, and not so empty that their arrival was a huge disturbance. People played snooker in the corner, and threw darts at an old, worn board. There was a circular bar in the middle, serving drinks to those slouched on stools. More people ate dinner here, squashed around tiny tables. The pair pushed past a group chatting with drinks in their hands, and sat at a corner table, two-seater and out of the way. No one looked in their direction.

"I'll get the drinks," Tsvetan told him, standing up again, "what would you like?"

"Vodka and lemonade." Alin watched the other weave through tables on their way to the bar, lost in thought. He tried not to pass judgement on Tsvetan yet, but so far he was acting perfectly normal. What did Alin know, though? He'd met the man briefly two times, and knew next to nothing about him. Still, there was plenty of time for that.

He looked over at Tsvetan, who was leaning casually against the bar, talking to the man next to him, and flashing a charming smile. He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling at whatever the other was saying. Alin wondered if he was attracted to him. Surely there would be something to tell him that, right? Tsvetan was handsome, with toned arms and a torso that was probably the same. When he smiled, a row of pointed teeth were revealed; teeth that Alin wouldn't mind gently nipping at his shoulders and lips. His stomach. The insides of his thighs. He covered his face with a hand, trying to hide his blush. Okay, maybe he wouldn't mind if Tsvetan dominated him for a bit; not today, but in the future sometime, when they knew each other better and were ready for something like that. Alin wondered if the other was interested in a one-night stand. He hoped as much, since he doubted Tsvetan could keep up the 'normal' act for long, and he wanted to get something out of their relationship before it all went downhill.

Of course, there was also the possibility that the gardener wanted a something long-term. He'd have to work pretty hard if he wanted that. Alin realised he was staring at the other in a lewd fashion, and drooling too! He quickly wiped his mouth as Tsvetan returned with the drinks, and the other said nothing as he placed a glass in front of Alin and sat down opposite him.

"Sorry about that," he began, "the man next to me wouldn't shut up about his Grandpa's restaurant. I thought he was going to keep talking until he dropped dead."

"Well, at least you're free from him now," Alin winked, "and can pay attention to me."

"Of course!"

"So, err, do you have a part time job? I mean, you have to support yourself somehow, right?"

"Yes, I, err, I work in a supermarket," Tsvetan shrugged, "dull business." He took a sip of his Rakia, staring at Alin evenly.

"As dull as cleaning cars at weekends?" Alin shuddered dramatically. "Still, hopefully that'll put a bit of muscle on me."

"You have a reasonably nice amount of muscle as it is."

"Thanks," Alin grinned, "but I wouldn't mind some more. So I can defend myself and all."

"Understandable," Tsvetan nodded slowly, taking a large gulp, "it's a dangerous world out there."

"How ominous," Alin laughed.

"Oh, sorry," Tsvetan's cheeks were dusted with red blush, "I'm not really good with romance. At all. It's really not my thing."

"I noticed. And what exactly about _this_ is romantic? You said it was just two friends getting some drinks!"

Tsvetan's face fell, "I know, but…"

"Ah, fine," Alin smiled warmly, cursing his weakness, "maybe it's a teeny bit of a date."

"Really? Thank you!"

"You're_ really_ not good at romance, huh?" Alin leaned closer, resting his elbows on the table.

Tsvetan blushed and looked away, draining his drink; "no. Never really cared before. Just spent centuries not giving a fuck about romance and then…" His eyes darted up and he looked at Alin in horror, like he'd revealed too much, but the other didn't notice.

"Nice metaphor," he said, "yeah it can feel like that sometimes. Wow, am I seriously the first person you've been into that way?"

"Yes," Tsvetan leaned forward, taking Alin's hands in his, "it would mean so much if you could love me back."

"Love?!" Alin cried, pulling his hands away, "what the hell? You don't just say things like that to people you just met!"

"You don't?"

"No! It's creepy and _way_ too forward! I'm not even sure I want a second date at this point, and you're throwing the 'L' word around like no one's business! You don't know me! You don't know that we're a good match!"

"Oh," Tsvetan looked dumbfounded, "my friend Francis said declarations of love were all the rage…"

"Your friend's an idiot!"

"Well, I'll admit he's pretty old… err, old-fashioned. But he's all I had, and he reads lots of romance books and flirts easily so I thought-"

"Look, Borisov," Alin sighed, folding his arms, "I'll admit I don't know much about love either, but it appears I know more than you. Love doesn't happen after meeting someone three times. There can be a spark, yes, but it takes time to reach that kind of emotional intimacy. Saying you love someone too early can scare them away, so just, you know, wait."

"It can?" Tsvetan nodded, looking down, "sorry, I didn't know."

"It's fine. Just be careful when you speak."

"I'm trying…" he looked utterly miserable, small and wounded and riddled with guilt. Alin just shook his head as he downed the last of his drink.

"You'll get there. Maybe not with me, but someone, in the future."

"I don't want someone else," Tsvetan mumbled.

"Woah there," Alin laughed, though every bone in his body told him to run, "you can't say things like that either!"

"Oh… again, sorry," he collected their glasses, "I guess I need a bit more practice. Sorry about this. Same again?"

"Yeah, sure. Isn't it my turn to buy though?"

"Not at all!" Tsvetan scoffed, "my treat! I'm the one whose idea this was. Besides, I owe you for being a creep. Stay there." And he disappeared again.

…

"He sounds so scary," Kuzey commented, "why did you stay?"

Alin wrapped his cloak tighter around him, "to be honest, I wanted to sneak out when he was at the bar; that's what my instincts were telling me to do, at least. But we were neighbours and went to the same university. We were bound to run into each other again, and how could I explain that I'd ditched him?"

"So you just went along with the date?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

"I was waiting for him to mess up," Alin explained, grinning mischievously, "he kept making little slip ups, but I needed something big. Something that would ensure he'd know I never wanted to see him again."

"And did he mess up?" asked Peter.

Alin's eyes twinkled, "oh yes, child one, he did indeed. Big time."

…

Alin boredly read through the menu, wondering if Tsvetan expected them to order food. He'd not eaten dinner, in case the other had taken him to a restaurant, and was feeling quite peckish after a long day writing coursework. Tsvetan hadn't mentioned it though. Did he forget? Or maybe he had something else planned.

He looked over at the bar, and once again, Tsvetan was talking to that stranger, a scrawny auburn-haired kid that looked barely old enough to drink legally. Maybe he was using a fake ID.

Their conversation looked more riled this time, with Tsvetan standing further back, arms crossed defensively whilst the other shouted at him. Suddenly, he snapped, shoving the other, who slapped him across the face.

"You little bastard!" he heard Tsvetan shout as the other picked up the bottle of wine he had been drinking from.

"No, wait!" he jumped up, desperate to break up the fight before anyone went to hospital. They ignored him. He pushed past tables and reached them just in time to see Tsvetan break the leg off one of the stools, readying to swing it at the boy. All around him, people were jumping to their feet, some rushing forward to break them up whilst others tried to get as far away from the commotion as possible.

"Stop it!" he shouted as he jumped between them. Green glass flew towards him, and the wine bottle hit his face. He fell to the floor, blood pouring out of his nose. He mouth was wet, filled with a metallic taste. Above him, Tsvetan struck the boy with the chair leg.

"Oy! Enough!" Several bar staff and waiters dragged the fighting duo away, receiving a few punches themselves, though they finally managed to confiscate their weapons and throw them out. Alin just sat slumped against a table as guests and diners fussed over him, and someone placed a tissue to his nose.

"Are you alright, Love?" one old lady asked. Alin nodded, still dazed, pulling himself onto his shaking legs and steadying himself on a stool before staggering outside after the other two.

He found Tsvetan wrestling the boy on the floor, throwing punch after punch at his face. He had his knees on the kid's arms, preventing him from fighting back. The boy was crying now. There was no one around to stop them.

"Tsvetan, please," his voice came out barely more than a whisper, the lump in his throat stopping him from calling out. This wasn't happening. He took a few more steps closer, wiping blood from his sore nose. "Don't… do this," he tried again. This time, Tsvetan heard him, sitting up and forgetting about his victim.

"Your face," his soft voice trembled, laced with fear and anger, "he spilled your blood." His face twisted into a vicious look of hatred, and he threw another punch at the kid. Alin realised where he knew the boy from; it was little Feliciano the art student, the friendly, delicate boy who had befriended Alin when he thought the older boy was alone.

"Tsvetan stop!" he cried, voice ringing out across the river.

"But he… this bastard! He hurt you! I'll make him hurt ten times more! I'll ruin his face! I'll kill him!"

"That won't make my pain go away," Alin grabbed his arm, "look, this is not how you solve conflict! You've hurt the poor boy enough, now let him go."

"But-"

"Do. It." Alin threw him a poisonous glare, and Tsvetan nodded, gulping. He stood up slowly, giving Feliciano one last kick in the stomach as he did so. The other jumped up, running away haphazardly and clutching his mouth, crying noisily for his brothers and Grandpa.

"Well, at least he knows not to hurt you again," Tsvetan murmured smugly, turning to Alin, but his grin was wiped off when he saw the other's expression.

"You monster," Alin hissed, "don't you feel any shame? You could've killed him the way you were carrying on!"

"He'd have deserved it," Tsvetan shrugged.

"You started the fight! This whole thing is your fault!" Alin screamed, "I saw you! You two were just using words until you pushed him! Take responsibility!"

"For what?" Tsvetan narrowed his eyes, "getting my own back after he hurt the person I-"

"Don't say it! Don't you dare say you love me like that'll make everything better!"

"But I do-"

"No you don't! And it doesn't matter anyway, because I hate you!" Silence. Even the river water seemed to still.

"You… hate me?" Tsvetan looked like he'd been slapped, mouth forming an o shape, eyes wide and watery.

"Yes! I don't want anything to do with you! Just stay out of my life! If you try to contact me again, I'll… I'll call the police! I refuse to even consider dating a man as violent and disgusting as you!"

Alin stormed away, not even bothering to look back as Tsvetan called to him. His arms shook, his face stung and butterflies darted about in his stomach, but he stayed strong. Tsvetan was trouble, he knew that from the start, but he went along with the man to be polite, but no more. He was doing it. He was leaving that man behind.

He'd never have to worry about Tsvetan Borisov again.

…

"It didn't work out like that, did it?" asked Peter with a wince.

"Oh dear God no," Alin whispered, "I was such a fool…"

…

**Hope it's still okay, GarGoyle!**

**You'd think I'd know how to write a decent bar fight…**


	4. The 'dream'

_Hello everyone, Yolossia here. _

_Now, this upcoming chapter was not written by me. It was written by GarGoyl, so all credit goes to her._

_This scene is very smutty, and pretty creepy and dodgy throughout, so if you're upset by those things you might wanna turn back now. If not, well, don't say I didn't warn you._

…

Tsvetan had some serious doubts about how this vampire thing worked after all, however awkward it was for one to ask themselves such a question after being one for a few centuries already. Of course, in essence, being a vampire was a pretty simple, uncomplicated type of existence, as long as one fed discreetly, without arousing any unwanted attention. And he'd stuck to that principle just fine until now. Normally he would just creep in the dark and grasp unsuspecting victims, a simple act of sating his hunger in which he more often than not indulged in their precious life essence to the last drop. He'd been completely unable to understand his old friend Francis, who chose to live his life in the open – as an actor no less – spreading his charms nonchalantly, shamelessly, even bothering to make his victims enjoy themselves as he preyed on them. Ridiculous, the Bulgarian had thought… until he had met Alin Radacanu.

There was something about the boy, something alluring, addictive which went past the sheer flavour of his blood, which in itself was exquisite. Had it been only the Romanian's blood he craved, things would have been fairly simple and the business closed until now. But there was more, he wanted more, so much more. But he was unable to get it, hence his accursed predicament. And Francis had not been helpful, mostly because – as the Bulgarian now realised – he had really paid no attention to the man. Vampires were naturally beautiful, naturally attractive (or rather… unnaturally so), thus why should they have to employ any courtship scheming, any flattery, any soft skills to make someone love them totally, completely?

Evidently, it didn't work that way at all, Tsvetan pondered as he stood unmoved like a statue in the darkness outside Alin's house. The flooding – oh by God that had been so stupid! – had gotten Alin to his doorstep, as planned, but from there it had all gone very wrong, culminating with the moment in which the Romanian had shoved all those terrible words in his face, despite his own pathetic vulnerability.

_Poor, mindless little boy! As if you could escape me…_

With somewhat of an amused sigh – now having drawn this conclusion – Tsvetan crept inside. _Silly Alin, as if all the locks he'd carefully turned on his door could keep bad spirits out._ The vampire advanced into the dark hallway, still smelling vaguely of damp, his footsteps light and cautious. Cautious because Alin's place was a terrible mess on a regular day (now a damp mess thanks to his machinations), but earlier the boy had come in angry and had furiously kicked various stuff in his way, causing a particularly high stash of books and literature magazines to collapse and spread all over the tiny hallway and partly into the living room.

The Bulgarian chuckled – of course. His object of interest was an artist, he would spend hours reading or writing to the point of utter oblivion, but cleaning definitely wasn't on his list. Tsvetan had discovered that even watching the boy as he went about his daily life – an unseen spectre no mortal could have ever noticed – was pleasurable to him.

For now, Alin was in the kitchen, most likely trying to get something done for dinner. The dark-haired young man wanted to kick himself so hard – if only he had taken his delectable neighbour to dinner instead of that shit bar! But that would have been a problem, since he didn't eat…. He could hear sobbing and sniffing coming out of the small kitchenette, along with the raw scent of freshly cut vegetables.

Forest green eyes swept yearningly over the delicate frame of his soon-to-be prey, whom was currently hunched over the wax cloth covered table, chopping some onions. Well, at least that explained the tears coming down his peachy cheeks – he really couldn't have been that upset. And thank god his nose bleeding had stopped, seeing all that precious blood go to waste had pushed Tsvetan past his boiling point. But ohhhh… his tears were a whole, previously undiscovered treasure! It was such a delectable, lovely sight to see the Romanian cry, even if they were fake tears really (and above all he'd not had the pleasure of being the cause of it himself).

Alin's delicate hand had a rather unsteady hold on the knife, he thought, manoeuvring the sharp blade dangerously close to his fingers as he squinted and sniffed continuously, unaware of his creepy neighbour's nose currently buried in his hair. _Mmm, maybe he'll cut himself…_

But maybe he had breathed out a bit too heavy, or he had let out any betraying sound (indeed the faintest moan may have left his lips), because the Romanian stopped his chopping and turned abruptly, alarmed, staring right into… well, into something he fortunately was unable to see. In this form Tsvetan had chosen (for once inspired), Alin could not see the deadly lust and hunger burning into the two green pools of poison staring at him from up close. Oh… so very close

Apparently, some other sound alerted the boy further, for he walked further, out of the kitchen, knife still clutched in his almost shaky hand. He made his way into the living room, cautious, very nearly holding his breath as he glanced around.

"Oh, fuck that already!" Alin said out loud, the sighed tiredly, shaking his head and letting the dirty knife drop on the wooden floor with a dull clatter. Tsvetan sighed in turn, mentally noting that if this lovely boy was ever to become his vampiric child, he would have to put an end to this messy bullshit, even if he would have to beat it into him with a stick.

Tsvetan watched patiently as the Romanian dumped the leftovers of his light dinner in the trash bin and rinsed the dishes ill-humored. _Soon, very soon… my pet…_

Indeed, soon enough Alin headed to his bedroom, throwing a quick glance around the crammed, equally messy space before hastily sweeping away the pile of books and course notes from his bed with a lazy movement of his arm. Gripping the edge of the bedcovers, he shook them free from the last remainder of inconvenient stuff and then plopped down and slipped between the sheets, not bothering to change from the large, sleazy t-shirt and sweatpants he'd worn all evening.

The Bulgarian leaned casually against the doorframe for now, observing as the boy settled in and considering all the layers of fabric which would need removing. Alin switched off the bedside lamp placed directly on the floor and the small room was completely engulfed in darkness. The vampire waited a little longer and to his luck, it paid off – after some tossing and turning under the thick duvet which probably provided more than enough warmth, both the sweatpants and the t-shirt (which smelled faintly of fried onion) were hastily thrown across the room.

_And now… I order you to sleep, my precious little bunny. You will not wake up unless I tell you to._

Darkness not hindering his sight in the least – if anything only sharpening his senses – Tsvetan climbed into bed with catlike movements, hovering above the slumbering form of his prey. With the sort of excitement one would feel when unwrapping a long-awaited gift, he pulled back the covers. Why had he waited and toiled uselessly for so long, the vampire wondered, letting the velvety petals of the black rose he'd pulled out of his pocket to trail over the boy's plump lower lip and further down on his chin, following his jaw line.

His face scrunching a bit in his sleep, the Romanian tilted his head to the side, exposing the ultimate temptation to the predator before him: his bare throat. Tsvetan licked his lips, able to feel the pulse racing under the smooth pale skin. Sure, it would have been much more enticing to watch a rosy blush spreading onto the boy's cheeks as he was being pinned down on the mattress, completely in his power, maybe even to read a bit a fear in those gorgeous red eyes. _But for now… well for now this would have to do. _The vampire had a sudden idea (which might have spoiled everything for the future, but right now he didn't give a damn) and leaned forward, bringing his lips to Alin's ear.

"_I want you to dream of me, as I'm doing this to you while you lie here helpless. I want you to dream of me as I eat you whole."_

Slender fingers tangled eagerly in the sleeping boy's honey coloured hair as Tsvetan tilted his face up and pressed his lips against his mouth. The vampire's skilled tongue delved in with ease, exploring slowly and relishing in the other's taste. Fangs grazed the plump lip, just enough to draw blood, which the Bulgarian savoured with a moan.

Alin's body was deliciously warm under him - all the more since now his face was getting a bit flushed and his pulse quickened – so the cool fingers left his hair and began their exploration, trailing down the delicate line of his neck, past his collarbone and further down his body. The dark-haired young man atop him only broke the hungry kiss he was currently enjoying to pull the undershirt the Romanian was still wearing past his head and out of the way.

Eventually the Bulgarian pulled away, glancing down at the now slightly swollen lips of his prey with a satisfied smirk, before he allowed himself to go any further. Then his lips at last began exploring the desired area – the boy's fully exposed throat. He lightly bit and nipped at the sensitive skin, but no, he would not rush things, no… better leave the best thing for last. His cold nose trailed down lower on the Romanian's body, inhaling the addictive scent of young skin.

As Tsvetan pushed himself lower on the bed, his own clothing became an unbearable hindrance. Impatiently, he clawed at his shirt, discarding it carelessly. _Touch me, Alin,_ he mentally ordered, _his whole body craving the warmth of the other_. But the Romanian's fingers only gripped the sheets helplessly as the vampire's mouth latched onto one of his nipples, sharp teeth teasing it mercilessly, and a choked moan escaped his lips. Soon he was panting and his back arched off the mattress, pushing himself further into his predator's mouth.

The dark-haired young man elicited a loud gasp from his prey as he went further down and his skilful tongue slipped inside the boy's navel, teasing the miniscule crevice. "T-Tsvetan… ah I can't…" Alin breathed out at last.

As tension was gradually building up in his own body, the Bulgarian advanced even lower with his ministrations and brought his hands down to rub his thumbs teasingly onto the boy's hipbones, before his mouth closed onto one of them completely, mercilessly torturing the delicate bone by licking and sucking on it painfully slow.

"No… P-please…"

The vampire smirked, even allowing himself a small chuckle as he quickly discarded his remaining clothing and pulled Alin's boxers down in one swift movement. Biting his own lip mischievously, Tsvetan gently pushed his knees apart, revealing his currently neglected but already fully erect member and pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss onto the moist tip. His tongue teased it playfully as he licked around from top to base, then grazed his teeth carefully over the tip once more before taking it into his mouth entirely. Beneath him, the Romanian was a moaning mess, instinctively bucking his hips upwards as his most vulnerable part was prey to the other's sharpest part.

_Not yet, my pet…_

Crawling upwards again, the Bulgarian captured his prey's mouth again, devouring it hungrily, passionately, as he reached down and grabbed the back of the boy's thighs, spreading them as far as he could. One slender leg was hooked onto his hip before he pushed himself in balls deep with one powerful thrust.

Alin cried into the kiss in protest, delicate fingers now clawing and digging into the vampire's biceps, trying to push him away, but to no avail. Tsvetan captured his hands with his own, pinning them to the sides once more as he interlaced their fingers. His kisses became less rough, almost gentle and soothing as he waited for a bit until the boy's body relaxed. He began thrusting slowly, rhythmically, in the same time planting butterfly kisses all over Alin's flushed cheeks, now wet with a mixture of sweat and tears.

"H-ah, faster… Tsvetan, faster and h-…harder!" the Romanian moaned beneath him, his voice suddenly accented, instinctively adjusting the angle of his hips as he was worked. The vampire smirked, licking the shell of his ear – only hearing Alin pronouncing his name with that accent of his was enough to send him over the edge.

"TSVETAN!"

That was it, he could help himself no longer. With a feral growl, the Bulgarian bit deep into the pulsating flesh of the boy's throat and hot blood invaded his mouth the same moment he reached his peak, prolonging it to no end. Alin cried, tossing and thrashing helplessly, but the dark-haired young man felt nothing but the blood, not knowing anything else, and not caring about anything else. He drank savagely, uncontrolled, quenching the burn in his throat, until the pleasure his body was experiencing was too much to bear and he collapsed on top of his prey, exhausted but incredibly satisfied.

Now he knew for sure – Alin Radacanu belonged with him.

…

"…I had a strange dream," was all Alin told the children.

"What was it about?" asked Peter curiously.

Alin faltered, looking at the three innocent faces before him. There was no way he could tell them what he'd dreamed, for even he didn't know the terrifying truth of what had happened. "I don't remember. It was kind of blurry, but I know it included him." Lies, all lies, but necessary lies. What could he say? That he'd dreamed Tsvetan was in his room doing… things that made him blush to think about. There was something else too, something just beyond the reach of his memory, something that made him feel dizzy and light-headed if he spent too long trying to reclaim it for his consciousness.

Not that it mattered, it was just a dream, right?

"So what happened next?" asked Kuzey, not liking Alin's expression at all.

"I just sunk deeper and deeper…"

…

**Okay, the last bit was added by me to round off the chapter and explain things from Alin's perspective.**


End file.
